


Minutes to Memories

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond makes the final claim to happiness. Alternate POVs from youth to mature age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minutes to Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I am very grateful to mirasaui and enismirdal for their beta work on this fic. Any remaining mistakes are solely mine.
> 
> One scene in this fic has similar context to another in Cheyenne Dancer's "In the Land of Silver Twilight the Wild Hunt Reigns". I had read this lovely story a while ago and I forgot about it, at least on conscious level. No plagiarism was intended and the idea of discussing of sexual differences and associated prejudice was drawn mainly from Michael Crichton's reflections on "Eaters of the Dead".
> 
> The title is from a John Mellencamp song. The verses Ereinion recalls are translation I made from Spanish from Federico García Lorca's "Gacela del Amor Desesperado". The last part was inspired by Tori Amos' line from "Lust": "running free, running through the afterworld into your room". I just love that song! And it's my happy ending of sorts to Orpheus and Eurydice.
> 
> Prompts: fanfic100 prompt 034: not enough
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Balar, circa 590 First Age**

I watched him as he sat down. I frowned at the slight sign of soreness, but then he crossed his legs and as they brushed, his lips twitched in an almost imperceptible smile. It was the bruise I had left on his calf last night. Images of our little encounter flashed through my mind and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. His lips formed a smug little smile and I could almost read his mind. My sweet peredhel.

I tried hard to behave and avoid such thoughts in the company of others, but his mischievous eyes haunted me. It was good that court fashion dictated loose robes.

Last night he had finally won his prize, but I felt I was the one who should indulge in sweet victorious thoughts.

* * *

He had hunted me down in the previous months in the most shameless way, always flashing himself under my eyes, seeking word with me about the most trivial matters, grasping each chance to touch me, even the slightest brushing of hands. At first it was annoying; I had so much more to worry about than a silly peredhel with an adolescent crush – and he was no longer an adolescent, having reached his majority some eight years ago. Besides, there were many that turned their eyes towards me in hopes of pleasing their High King in less orthodox ways than in the battle field or at diplomatic tables and I was less than enthusiastic of having another such admirer, even one as beautiful and exotic as the peredhel.

Still he persisted. What struck me about Elrond was the passion he held about everything he took an interest in. There was no half measure for him. He was so unlike his brother, who was always cautious, always trying to determine a way to serve their best interests. Elrond's fire ranged from blazing sparring sessions where he would take any opponent, no matter how bad the odds, to plunging into a book so completely that he forgot to eat and sleep. He never shied from defending his stance on any imaginable theme at social or political meetings, but had the grace and humility to capitulate if his opponent's arguments proved to be wiser. If not, he never backed down, not even when I was the opponent. As I watched him I often found myself thinking, against my will, that he was a fascinating paradox.

I preferred by far the Elrond I watched while unnoticed. When he was around me he was always trying to impress. Sometimes too hard. In fact, after a while I found that the only way I could get through to the real Elrond that hid beneath all that bravado was to kindle his anger on some issue. When I managed to, he was pure fire. The one thing I adored about him, above all others, was the way he simply blurted his truths in the midst of a rage, forgetting who I was, and that he should defer to me, forgetting how he meant to seduce me. In these moments I was sure Elrond would make a fine lover someone, some day.

These outbursts had the annoying effect of eliciting Hope, that unwise, tiny little voice at the back of my mind, to tell me he was the one for me. I could have none that would blindly bow to me and crawl. I wanted someone who would behave like an equal. Thus, Elrond's juvenile, absurd efforts managed to capture my attention, and eventually more than my attention, as others more experienced in the art of seduction had not.

His relentless pursuit had drawn my interest beyond mere curiosity. It was easy to see that he, at least, wanted me, not the benefits of living in my shade, so I started to consider the hypothesis of taking him as my lover. The obstacles were large, if not insurmountable. I was the last of my bloodline, expected to produce heirs and set an example for my subjects. There was not an elf in all of Arda who was more deprived of freedom in matters of the heart or even the groin than I was. I had not the benefit of old age or of a long, peaceful reign to soften hearts, and taking a young lover would not sit well with my people. I really had other things to consider besides the peredhel's yearning, but I was drowning in a deep, dark sea of lust for one I had no intention of having. It would be a political disaster, a social risk, and I did not care to think about the emotional consequences for him, nor for me.

I kept dismissing these thoughts of him, but it was increasingly difficult. My body had betrayed me on some of the occasions that the cheeky peredhel stood in my way and offered himself to me. Sooner or later he was going to notice that his efforts were yielding results, but I did not intend to facilitate his purpose, so I strove to keep a stolid appearance in his presence. In the solitude of my room, at night, however, I could not will myself to repel lustful images of us and my lonely hands worked on my lonely need.

It had not escaped my attention that he was courted by many and rejected all. Actually, it flattered me. His brother, too, was a much-sought prize for the usual predators, and even for others, because the peredhel twins were beautiful, young and full of promise. It was revolting to think that many wanted them just out of curiosity for the marks of the blood of Men in their bodies, or for their virginity. Though I slightly distrusted Elros because of his reserved thoughts, I was the first to admit that both peredhil were better men and better elves than most I knew, even at such a young age, and it enraged me that some were oblivious to their qualities.

After about a year of this silent but brazen courtship, the peredhel changed his behaviour drastically. He started flirting with these seedy admirers. By now, many had noticed his infatuation with me and heads turned constantly from one of us to the other while we were in the same room. Whispers were surely abounding, and the need to avoid them was precisely what had held me back until now.

I found myself constantly thinking about him. Jealous thoughts mingled with desire and dark fantasies of him with other elves or myself. I kept wondering to whom he had given himself, or, knowing Elrond's sweltering will, whom he had taken from among these flirts, but there were contradictory rumours and so my curiosity remained unquenched.

I finally caved in. I invited him to my room one night, after he spent the whole evening talking to the daughter of one of my counsellors, throwing smug, slight grins at me. My tone was sombre and no words were exchanged on the way to my chambers, but I had not fully closed the door before he was pressing his body to mine, pushing me to the wall, kissing me breathless. His erection was throbbing through all the clothing against my hip, and I, too, found myself impossibly aroused. His hands were all over me. I almost was at loss for what to do. I had not had many lovers and certainly none so fiery. And being so desired, without any inhibition, was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced.

We undressed each other quickly while moving to the bed amidst ardent kisses. The peredhel really was passionate about everything he did, as I had so many times mused.

I lay on my back and he sat astride me. He kept kissing me, on the lips, biting, teasing, crushing. His tongue was unrelenting and his mouth the sweetest thing I had ever tasted. The way his tongue dived unexpectedly and once more took my breath made my heart flicker. His kisses were like the sea, ever swaying and always intense.

After some minutes he paused, looked into my eyes, smiled, and nuzzled into the crook of my neck, inhaling deep. He started kissing and licking my ears, laughing softly at the shiver I could not repress. He proceeded to my neck and trailed kisses until he reached my nipples, treating them like fascinating toys.

The feel of his skin on mine, his scent, the warmth of his body and his sensuous moves, slightly rubbing himself on me, were too much. I was completely inflamed by him. I felt I would not last, but I tried hard to contain myself, for this was sheer delight and had been much anticipated by both of us. As he left my nipples and trailed downward I held my breath. When he finally took me in his mouth, after much teasing I was already dripping and knew release was close, so I cupped my hand on his cheek and pulled him up gently for another kiss.

I wanted so much to be inside him. I held him tight, while I kissed him and turned us in the bed so I would lie on top. I started grinding our arousals together in small circles, but I wanted more and so did he. He wrapped his legs around my hips and asked me to take him in a hoarse voice, unfamiliar to me.

I looked around for something to ease the way. I cursed myself as I realized I had to get out of the bed, but I would not risk hurting him. As I returned with the oil normally used in my hair, I found myself gazing at Elrond. His gaze on me seemed almost coy. The little tease. It brought a smile to my eyes.

I kissed him again and prepared us a bit hastily, then moved on top of him once more. He once again encircled me in his limbs, but when I entered him he clenched painfully and all his body tensed, while he released the tiniest whimper. I was not expecting this, and it took some moments to register in my lust-drenched mind he was in pain.

I stopped half inside him and looked deep into his eyes. Now, all the bravado was gone. He looked pained and even scared and when I saw him thus my heart swelled. With love. With concern. I had not thought him a virgin, not after all that flirting around, not after all that fire he had suffused me with just moments before. He should have told me. I had not prepared him thoroughly and he had no idea how to make himself relax or what to expect from taking a good sized male lover.

I could have kicked myself for not having seen behind his façade. I felt his pain as my own and all I wanted to do was to hold him and take back those excruciating seconds. Start over and make it better. I could not, however, so I just kissed him and caressed him, coaxing him to relax, not daring to move in or out. In spite of the pain, but I could still feel the faintest arousal in him.

He tried to apologise but I stopped him. How could he want to apologise, the sweet thing? I was the one who had to beg for redemption and so I did, with my body.

After he relaxed and the pain subsided, I asked him if he wanted me to withdraw from his body, but he declined. I still did not dare to move, but now I was determined to make him enjoy his first time and forget all the pain. Patience was easily afforded, for I now was not as near the brink of completion as before.

Eventually, I did leave his body. I roamed through his skin as he done mine, savouring it, taking my time. Apparently, some of the gossip about his mannish features was true. I found everything about him perfect and fascinating. At first he recoiled when I tried to lick the hair he had under his arms. I looked up to meet a distrustful gaze. I knew that he was thinking about the disdainful remarks of others.

I kissed him once more and whispered, "My beauty". I dared not call him "peredhel" at that time for he would not take it well. He held me once more and nodded slightly in permission. I continued my explorations. I kept marvelling at him. His chest was finely muscled underneath soft, creamy skin. No hair there, like it was murmured. As I moved downward I came across a fine line of soft black hair that ran from his navel to his groin, partly hidden by his reawakening arousal. I took him into my mouth, renouncing the teasing and tormenting and worked on him until he was fully erect.

As he whimpered below me, I continued until his tug on my hair was almost painful and he came. I held him close as he panted and kissed him chastely on the cheek. A few moments later he turned to me and reached down with his hand as he kissed me, fumbling blindly. Once again he asked me to take him, in a hushed tone.

His voice showed he was determined. I had heard that tone many times before and I knew what followed. Truthfully, I wanted him so badly that I did not use my best debating skills in protest. This time I prepared him very, very carefully and very tenderly. Each time I looked in his eyes I felt a strange tickling sensation in my stomach. I did not recall ever having felt that before about anything or anyone.

When I entered his body for the second time he was fully relaxed and showed clear signs of arousal. I moved as slowly as I could, but in the end he was the one who pulled me all the way in, wrapping those long, exquisite legs around my waist. After a couple of thrusts I placed them on my shoulders so as to ease penetration. I had not intended to do such a thing, but the vision of his concentrated expression and of his hand wantonly touching himself made me lose control, and I marked him as mine. I bit deeply into his left calf and when I opened my eyes at his sharp hiss there was only deep, dark desire in his.

* * *

It was after that night that I started thinking of him as "my sweet peredhel". I could not help it, even after centuries together. Whenever I thought of him, the image of his exposed vulnerability, total surrender, trust and love just came to my eyes, sometimes so intense it made them sting. The way he gave himself to me without any reservation or expectation tattooed a love in my soul that grew and waved and shifted over time. Like the sea or the flames. Like my sweet peredhel himself.

On that night I had wanted to whisper words of love, but I managed some how to keep them inside. It was too soon for that, I told myself then. I was being selfish, of course. It really was too much trouble to have such a lover and I hoped to keep things quiet, but I was not counting on Elrond being Elrond.

* * *

The thing about Ereinion that fascinated me was that I could not read him. He desired me, yes, but then so many others did, so much more overtly, and they ever tried to act upon it. It was no surprise, my being a peredhel. They felt curious, wanted to see just how much of Mankind I had in me. At least I was supposed to be tireless and well endowed. It could be worse, I mused, but the remarks and whispers, more or less explicit, hurt me at times. It was harder for Elros, though. He always cared too much about the opinions of others.

I suppose this prejudice that extended far beyond bedroom issues was one of the reasons that drove Elros away and made him choose his fate. For a long time I could not forgive the Firstborn for this pettiness, but time heals many wounds.

Elros was more elvish than me in his ways, thoughtful, calm and collected, always conscious of his place in the world. He was a born strategist if ever there was one. He often chastised me because of what he called my mannish ways, my impulsiveness.

His reproaches became more intense and frequent when we came to court and met Ereinion. I hunted him, haunted his every step, always presenting myself under his eyes, sometimes discreetly, sometimes not. I had no wish to lose composure in public and least of all in his presence or my brother's, but sometimes I could not help showing off. Many times I was able to see the sparkle of desire in his eyes, but he never acted upon it.

My brother was the first to notice this infatuation. At first he thought it was funny, and taunted me in private, sometimes even in public, with veiled allusions. I felt I could smack him in the face, but he was really my only ally, my only kin, my own blood. As time passed, and I got closer to Ereinion, I dared to believe I might have some luck, some day. I even considered using cheap tricks such as to lure him or intoxicating him with alcohol, but that was not how I wanted him and there was no great chance of succeeding anyway. Besides, I could see in his eyes he wanted me too. There was hope, there had to be. I fed on these little crumbs of appreciation that he dropped unwillingly. Catching his eye was a small victory; a word or touch prizes to be cherished for weeks.

Elros started a dissuasion campaign, but to no avail. He had plans and wanted me to be part of them. Some were lunatic, some feasible, but all precise and clean as his own mind. As my obsession with Ereinion was no longer a secret, some elves whose approaches I had scorned even dared mock me.

Occasionally there were murmurs about one odd lover he took to his bed, but these rumours, true or not, never developed into anything more. They hurt me deeply, and at these times I almost let my brother convince me that I wasn't in love with Ereinon, that it was just a whim and I was behaving like a pampered child. Later he added to these arguments saying that I had just grown used to being infatuated with Ereinion.

He was right, of course. I never understood that about Elros until I made my choice. He had such clarity of thought even at this young age. It never ceased to amaze me how he always discerned people's motives so quickly and so accurately. He kept warning me, and I knew he was right, but I did not care. Later, when I became Ereinion's lover, I knew the difference and I knew Elros had been right once more. What I felt then and what blossomed and developed afterward between the two of us was miles away from that anxiety, confusion, that haze that was being in lust with him.

My persistence was bound to yield fruit sometime, but I started playing dangerous games, trying to catch Ereinion's attention. I flirted. I was a shameless tease. I knew many lusted after me; long, I heard the remarks wondering about the physical differences, how my sweat would taste, how my body would smell, how much body hair I had and where, how that would feel under their fingers or their tongues. I started wearing looser shirts for weapon's practice and tighter leggings.

I graced with smiles elves I had so plainly rejected before. Only a fool would believe I had any real intentions though, because I never did any of this out of Ereinion's eyes. Whenever he was not around I avoided these concupiscent elves, but never overtly or offensively so I could use them later.

Elros almost despaired at this behaviour, urging me to stop while there were still a few who respected me. I understood him and tried to abide by him, but then I saw Ereinion ostensibly ignoring me, or worse, patronizing me, and it all started again. It pained me to behave so lowly, but I must confess, I also enjoyed the sense of power I got from parading myself. For a while I even considered yielding to one or more of these elves. I would get precious experience to put to my lord's service.

I never did though. The idea of physical intimacy with any other appalled me. I preferred to instruct myself by reading some very well hidden tomes and sometimes by watching unsuspecting lovers.

I was nearly losing hope when, one night, he asked me to his rooms. No more words, no reason, just a very laconic invitation. As we walked there, side by side in the late night, I agonized, trying to decipher his intentions, but he gave nothing away. To any other it would be plain obvious, but I was in too deep in this obsession for clear thought.

As we entered his chambers I made my decision, and plunged into his arms and crushed his lips with mine. He accepted me! I could not think a single coherent thought. All I could do was melt into him and make long months of fantasies come true. He was different from anything I had ever imagined, at moments even insecure. I was surprised that he let me lead our actions, but intensely pleased. Until he entered me. Pain ripped through me. And then the miracle happened. Ereinion showed me what making love was. He gave me love. Lust had been there, and it had been good, and all I had known and dared to hope for, but in his touches after that piercing moment there was so much more. After that night, after falling asleep in his arms, after hearing him calling me his sweet peredhel while I drifted into sleep, I knew I would fight for this like I had done for nothing else before.

* * *

I could not believe we were having this argument again. Nothing I did could convince my brother that I was more than a simple prop to Ereinion. We all knew that he could not declare me his openly. Ever. But Elros refused to see me as more than a concubine, our love as more than base instinct.

Elros had big plans; saw us as rulers and warriors, and my relationship with Ereinion threatened all that in his eyes. My brother, who was always right about people, had missed this tiny detail about me. I wished not to rule as he did, nor to sire children, nor to build a home. I wanted only my love, but even before we ever met him I had no such desires.

The tension was becoming unbearable. I was torn between the only two people I loved. Sometimes I lashed out at Ereinion, but he dismissed the occasional poison with a teasing, tender "my sweet peredhel" whispered in my ear. It was an endearing term, but so much more. Ereinion was the only one who understood that I needed both sides, that I was both Man and Elf. That I needed desperately to be both yet could be neither, for Elves thought me a man and Men thought me an elf. Not even Elros grasped that.

Time was running out and we had to make a choice. Elros agonized over it, but for me there was no doubt; even if he was right, and I was naught but a pet for my king, I wanted to be immortal if not elven. I would bask in my lover's warmth if I could, for how long I could. Elves could die of heartbreak, I was told. If Elros was right, I did not mind having such a destiny should Ereinion tire of me. Still, to Ereinion's exasperation, I could not avoid repeating the question: "Will you not tire of me?"

Elros wanted immortality too, but he also wanted to share his life with me. He thought he needed me by his side to become a king. I think disappointment in me first led him to choose mortality. That hurt me deeply, but the many months of dissension over Ereinion had created a breach between us and that was just another pain to add to the burden.

Later, I came to realize that Elros was right in his choice, as always. He had no love but mine to support him through the veiled conceit we were dispensed. With Men he had freedom we could never achieve in the much more static elven society, and he would have immortality through his children. His knowledge and wisdom would certainly be great gifts to the race of Men.

* * *

When Elros made his choice to be counted among Men, Elrond almost followed him. His anguish was constant, even in sleep, even while we made love. I was tormented too. I had nothing to offer my lover but a few stolen nights. I could not expect to compete with brotherly love, nor did I wish to. Elrond had to be free in his choice.

I had long suspected things would turn out this way. Elros was ambitious, that I had seen.

The quarrelling was constant in the last month before Elros' departure. Both had made their decisions but there was still time to change their minds. Elrond started arguments over the slightest thing and ended up always with that question guised in bitterness: "Will you not tire of me?"

These rows took place everywhere. Elrond forgot the presence of others, and I did too. In court our involvement was less than secret now.

Elrond could not imagine eternity. Neither could I, frankly, but I knew some things could never change and we were one of those. I could not grasp what it was like to be split between two worlds, but I had to give Elrond whatever support I could. The last time he aimed yet another variation of that question at me, I made a decision. I would try my best to show him my heart was not bound to change. It could not.

And I did what I could. As Elrond took his place among the Firstborn the Valar endowed him with great wisdom and knowledge of lore. This was not enough to go through eternity, though. There were things I did not understand but that I intuitively knew, and that was what I wanted to give Elrond. A sort of tranquillity that came from deep inside and allowed us to survive the many ordeals of our existence and live with their consequences for millennia.

The night before Elros left we had our last quarrel. Elrond picked a fight about a horse shoe –that was how bad his mood and temper had become. After much yelling through the corridors and door slamming he asked in a loud but quivering voice: "It is true, is it not? You are already tiring of me, are you not? Please tell me now…" His voice trailed off, but the implications were very clear. He was forcing me to choose for him, but I had not the right and his choice was long made. He was just afraid of it. At that moment though I could not bring myself to the required calm.

"Elrond, you think that because you think like a man," I started, but he did not let me finish.

"Well, I am one!" he spat angrily. I sensed another outburst coming so I stopped him right there.

"Elrond!" The harshness in my voice was not intended, but he had this way of making me flare.

"Elrond," I tried again, in a softer tone, approaching him and putting my hands on his shoulders. He was still angry and was so proud, so hurt, but accepted my embrace.

"My sweet peredhel," I whispered in his ear. He stiffened, but I continued, "You have chosen immortality. Let me help you with that choice. I want to give you more." After a pause, I continued: "Our love will have to become public then… Well, just a little more public – there might still be one or two elves out there that do not know of us yet…" I teased, trying to make him smile.

He remained silent in my arms for a while. Then finally he said: "We cannot. You cannot give me this. Just be here for me now."

In that moment, I did not think I had ever loved anyone more intensely. The feeling was so deep that it brought tears to my eyes, but I gulped them down for his sake. He was already confused and hurt as it was.

He sighed into my shoulder and said, "I just want to sleep right now. I am so tired."

I led him to the bed, lay my poor love down and took his boots off. I covered him with his cloak that he had left on the floor. As I walked away, I heard another tired sigh.

"Would you like me to stay for a bit longer?" I found myself asking. The rumours about our involvement were beyond any attempt to repair now, so one more night together in his room would not really matter. I lay beside him and held him as he drifted into oblivion for precious moments. I could spend hours watching the way he pouted while he slept. "My sweet peredhel", I thought, "I would do anything to keep you."

* * *

**Siege to Mordor, 3441 Second Age**

The last night we spent together before he died, before Isildur's treachery, before all the disgrace and dishonour that was still to come, was half spent in strategy discussion with our chief captains and Elendil and sons.

I had such an awful feeling about the next day. Flashes of death, of my Lord's death, of my lover's death... I could hardly concentrate on what was being said. I wanted to have him to myself and have him cast way these ominous thoughts.

He did so later. When the meeting was over, he bid me to come to his tent with a single glance. Oropher looked away in disgust. The hypocrite. As if half of Middle Earth did not know he had lusted after Glorfindel forever.

Inside the tent, Ereinion tried to make me speak of what worried me, but I could not, would not, tell him I had seen him die. It pained me deeply already and there was no need to cause him anguish. Besides, not always did these visions come to be.

He came from behind me and nestled his chin in the crook of my neck as he enfolded me in his arms. "Let us sleep, my sweet peredhel."

"Do you think we can?"

"Nay, but we can try. I need to feel you close to me." He started undoing my buttons.

"And I too. But I need more than being able to sleep in your arms." I turned and kissed him, first tenderly, but then desire hit me, as intense as ever and I could not help myself. I felt the metallic taste of blood as I bit his lower lip hard, but he did not seem to care. In fact, he too must have felt the urgency and the anguish of the situation and of the kiss because he continued to undress us with renewed energy.

"What do you need, my love? Tell me what you want of me this night; it is yours." His deep voice in my ear made me even harder while his generosity touched me to the core.

"Ereinion, this night I need to be inside you. I need you so badly." He shuddered slightly as I removed the last pieces of clothing and almost pushed him to the cot. A thousand years of intimacy told me this was desire and naught else.

"Then take me. Take me as hard and as rough as you need to."

And I did. I used so little oil I felt like the friction would set us on fire. Even in the depths of torment and dark, desperate desire, I tried to check if he was in pain, but it did not seem to be the case. When I came he was still erect. After such rough handling I was surprised at that, but he waited a few moments and then asked me, "Let me have you, my love". I was still on top of him, so I straddled his hips and lowered myself down onto his erection. As he filled me, I felt split in two, not by the physical pain – those days were long gone – but by a feeling of deep loss. Now I was certain that ours would be a bitter victory, if it was a victory at all, and that he would depart to the Halls of Mandos.

He turned me on that tiniest of beds, not moving inside me. He kissed me deeply and tenderly. His love overwhelmed me every time, but this was different. His eyes were filled with such sorrow that in that moment I knew he, too, was saying goodbye.

He kept kissing me and whispering reassuring words of love, but with no mention of tomorrow, of forever, as he always had. He knew. My shattered heart was ground down even further by pain. He kept touching me and kissing me until I was hard again and only then proceeded to move inside me.

This time we came together so hard I think we must have awakened half the camp – that is if they had managed to conjure sleep. At this moment I knew that it mattered not keeping appearances, and even if it did, I was beyond caring. And so was he.

* * *

**Imladris, 2 Fourth Age**

He died. We both had seen it, but I was in no way prepared for the emotional avalanche that followed. I felt dead, no, I felt I was dying the most excruciating death each day that passed.

I let this hollow shell that I had become run Imladris for the benefit of my people. I would at least honour his sacrifice and the trust he bestowed on me when he gave me Vilya. Glorfindel and Erestor were there by my side, as they had been since the founding of Imladris. My dear friends. For a while Glorfindel insisted they sleep in my room in shifts, afraid that I would fade or worse, attempt to take my own life, but those were not options for me.

Those were very hard days for everybody, but especially for Erestor. Glorfindel still had nightmares, and in the nights he stayed with me Erestor always ended up being there for the both of us. I always wondered how he could endure everything both of us put him through, and all the work.

I had met them in Eregion before the invasion and we had immediately connected. Glorfindel was a force of nature. He spread light all around him. It was much later that I learned of the nightmares that he sheltered from in Erestor's arms. Erestor was almost his shadow, always quiet and observant. He changed dramatically in battle, whether on the field or at the council table. In battle he jumped in front of Glorfindel and let no one near him. He turned into a raging lion. I witnessed many heated fights between the two of them because of this protectiveness. In council meetings he outwitted all opponents. Anyone who dared to cross him, or worse, insult Glorfindel, regretted it bitterly sooner or later.

They were my greatest aid while trying to hold Eregion, and later while fleeing with the refugees and forming Imladris.

About a century after Ereinion's death I let Galadriel and Celeborn persuade me to marry their daughter. Erestor was her greatest supporter and helped them to convince me. He thought that what I needed was to love, but I was not sure I could do that ever again, not even with Celebrían.

I had first met her when she and Galadriel passed through Imladris. I felt lonely spending so much time away from Ereinion, and the only company I truly appreciated in Imladris were my two friends. They, however, only reminded me of my own missing lover with their snickering and the occasional flamboyant declarations Glorfindel made to embarrass Erestor. They made me smile, but only added to my longing.

Galadriel and Celebrían's visit was a welcome change. Galadriel was mesmerizing, both wise and beautiful. Sometimes she showed us her legendary athletic skills, embarrassing us in small playful sparring sessions or archery contests.

Celebrían was a shy little thing, always hiding in corners and trying her best not to attract attention. She had a softness about her that neither Galadriel, nor Celeborn possessed. She intrigued me, but at first what I felt was mostly compassion. It was obvious that she felt inferior to her parents and though they loved her, she always felt she was a disappointment.

Sometimes I found her musing in the gardens, alone. In these moments she was a different person. She had a wonderful soft sense of humour and a sharp but kind mind. I knew what it was to feel inadequate. I wanted to change that, to make her feel loved. I found these strange feelings growing in me and I thought it was just the loneliness of living so far away from Ereinion. I ached for his presence. Strangely, while she was there, this longing, ever so present, manifested itself only at night when I would retire to my room. The vast cold bed brought me neither comfort nor rest.

After they left I occasionally thought of her with fondness, maybe even more than mere affection, but it was such a different feeling than what I felt for Ereinion that it never occurred to me until much later that it could be love. She began fading from my mind as the problems built and the shadows spread again and again. Ereinion came to me as often as he could and we tried our best to leave the world outside the bedroom door.

* * *

The marriage was arranged. Celebrían came a month before with her parents. I knew that she wanted it. I knew that everybody wanted it. But I felt very little those days, and the few times a fleeting thought of how would it feel to hold her crossed my mind, I felt guilty for betraying his memory. All those whispered remarks of my youth about my mannish blood rushed to my head allying self-loathing to the stinging guilt.

Her softness was like a summer haze spreading all around in comforting warmth. She managed somehow to dim this numbness that had taken hold of me. She picked up the pieces and made me as whole as I could ever be again. Still shy, but somehow determined.

I came to love her, deeply. At first like a drowning man loves the saving hand, as she brought love and laughter and joy slowly back into my life. Later I loved her as a dear friend, and as any husband should love his wife, with passion. She could never see that, though. All she could see was the shadow I never allow myself to think of anymore. Among my closest circle there was a silent agreement that his name would not be mentioned in my presence. Sometimes this silence was harder to bear than the pain of his memory.

I had never desired to sire children as my brother had. It was a surprise, the clenching in my heart when I first held Elladan, still wet from the birth. And Elrohir. And my sweet Arwen. They lit up my life and made me ever so grateful to Celebrían. Still the shadow remained where their mischief and childish laughter could not reach, though I tried to hide it.

She resented it, I knew, but she never let on more than an occasional sad glance. I tried so hard to let her know how devoted to her I was, but after a while she slowly gave up on me. She started staying more often and for longer periods in Lothlórien. I hated myself for not being able to coax back the shy, insecure Celebrían that was always there now, as when we had first met.

Erestor, I later came to know through Glorfindel, tried many times to show Celebrían that my past should not come between the two of us. He was one to know, for both he and Glorfindel had been scarred by life.

Even so, there was love in our lives, and even happiness.

And then tragedy, again. Celebrían's torture, and her last bitter words as she left me, blaming me, telling me she would not be seeking refuge with her kin if I had been a better husband. And my children listening to her poison… For many years it was so hard not to hate her for the consequences of those sour words. None of them ever told me they condoned their mother's last words, but I could see the growing estrangement taking place. They started spending more and more time away from Imladris and from me. Arwen followed her mother's habits and spent up to centuries at a time in Lothlórien, and the twins became obsessed with death, leaving the valley for weeks, even months, hunting orcs and distancing themselves further from everyone else but each other.

Now it was all over. The war, my family having all chosen mortality, Ereinion cursed by the Valar, trapped in Námo's Halls, Celebrían's legacy of bitterness. Why I once more chose the company of immortals and went to the unknown Valinor was beyond my understanding. Maybe I had no other choice. I wished not to become a shadow in Middle-earth. That would not grant me entrance intp Mandos' coolness, I was sure. Though my existence was not necessary for others now, taking my own life would certainly not grant me a comfortable permanence there, and I lacked the will such a measure would require. Though I felt I needed healing after a life spent healing others, I also sensed it was beyond me, and doubted seriously there was anything left for me than to dwell on the minutes turned to memories until the end of time. Unbearable. Maybe in Valinor, the Valar would pity me and grant me some peace. Maybe not.

A life marked by loss, mine was. There had been joy and love, even after Elros' decision, even after Ereinion's inglorious death, and yes, even after Celebrían's departure, but it was not enough to keep the flame of love and hope alive, as so long ago Ereinion had taught me.

When I reached Valinor I strayed long, greeting old friends without great enthusiasm. Celebrían, had resigned herself to the past, but now blamed me for the loss of our children to mortality. Mithrandir had come with me, as well as Glorfindel and Erestor. Wise and kind as ever, they tried to ease my burden, help my soul heal, but I lacked hope and even Valinor felt cold to me.

One day, straying in Glorfindel's new gardens, I saw a tiny ant fighting with a much larger beetle for a breadcrumb. After much strain, the ant managed to pull the crumb from the beetle, despite the odds. An insidious idea started forming in my mind.

The Valar had made me lose everything in my life. Now it was time to defy them.

* * *

**Valinor, 4 Fourth Age**

He came. He came through the centuries, millennia. He came despite death and loss. He was battered and worn. Time had carved lines in his face and valleys in his soul. Námo let me see how he crossed all of Valinor, through mountains, rivers, steppes, through the domains of unwilling Valar. How he ran from the realms of the living into this afterworld. How, for days, he hollered against Námo at the gates of Mandos. How he cried out for me, how he cursed me for not coming, but I could not. His sword hung from his hand in clear defiance. The last time I saw him in this stance, at Orodruin's base, I only saw defeat. Now it was something else.

He was wearier than ever but persisted besieging Mandos. I could not tell how how much time had passed, for time was strange in Mandos. Its currents shifted and twirled and the souls there thanked Námo for such a gift that made existence bearable, even pleasant for some. I was no longer at peace as before. The numbing effect of Mandos had completely worn off. Memories of feelings and happenings rushed in as the tide in the summer. Strong, whirling, but warm.

An old song of desperate love hummed in my head constantly, until it seemed the very walls of Mandos vibrated to its rhythm:

"Neither night nor day wish to come  
So that I can die for you  
And you die for me."

Well, I was already dead, and looking at Elrond, I was not sure what or how he was anymore.

Námo summoned me one day. "I sense you are restless," he said, enigmatic as ever.

"I am, my Lord." I waited for his answer, but another question came instead.

"Do you wish to leave my Halls?" He was inscrutable.

"I do." I knew this to be impossible for me. My people were cursed for kin slaying. This answer would certainly bring me no benefit, but I felt no inclination for diplomacy, not while Elrond bled for me out there.

"Would you not rather have him enter them?" Again that blank look. Námo was kind, in a cold, detached way, but these questions were frightening me.

"Is that an offer, my Lord?" I instantly bit my lip – not a wise move.

He smiled almost gently at my words. "Would you like it to be?"

"I could never take that offer. Elrond deserves much more." I knew better than to keep insulting the Vala's hospitality, but now I understood that a game was being played. I did not know all the players, or all the pieces, but I had to try.

Námo smiled again, as I was sure he could read my thoughts. "You are right. Elrond deserves so much more for all he has done and all he has endured. The question is, do you?"

I could not answer that. I tried to be the best I could in my former life. A just king, a loyal friend, good to my lover, but was that enough? What was enough? Scenes of my former life kept passing trough my eyes until that last one, the last second I lived. That was something I never allowed myself to think of, but now the memory just hit me, sending shock waves through me.

Námo smiled and said, "Yes, your sacrifice was not forgotten. It is time. You are both free."

The implications of the stressed "both" did not elude me. I felt washed in gratitude.

The gates shifted at his words, and I crossed his blossoming gardens under the soft sunlight, into freedom and into my lover's arms, first walking then running, feeling myself solidifying, becoming real once more through Elrond's love. Mandos was exerting its last spell upon me, but the waves of soothing forgetfulness, once so appreciated, just flowed through me, leaving no traces. I did not look back once.

I could not help grinning madly through tears of joy as I fell into my sweet peredhel's arms.

 

_Finis  
April, 2004_


End file.
